


Aesthetics

by infinitywritten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Childhood Friends, Colors, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 04:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitywritten/pseuds/infinitywritten
Summary: Colour in the sky,And take a comet ride;With me day and night,In green and blue;;Dean Winchester's been Castiel's muse since he realized he was in love with him. He's the movement in the shading, and the colours exploding into vibrancy on his page. Unfortunately, they haven't been friends for years and Cas' got about a snowball's chance in Hell of changing that. And besides, it's not just friendship he wants. Dean disappeared years ago and came back different. And really, he's the biggest (and worst)  flirt ever. But stranger things have happened.





	Aesthetics

**Author's Note:**

> With a ton of love to [Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream) and [ Kaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywarded) for betaing so beautifully. Lucky to have you both.  
> Extra thanks to Dream for helping me with this prompt, which originally started as 100 word drabble that turned into 4k.
> 
> I'm really proud of this one, so if you like it, feel free to leave a comment- they paint my world with brightness.

* * *

* * *

 

The lunchroom is at a dull roar. Castiel Novak has pushed aside his tray- which still contains whatever mystery meat was being served (looks _kind of_ like beef), and most of an apple. He just has to finish this one for his art class before tomorrow.

He pushes his glasses up, squinting at the figure that isn’t quite coming to life in his sketchbook. Still, it’s taken him the better part of two days to really focus on the anatomy and trying to make it move. It would really help, actually, if he liked running at all.

Usually, the feelings portrayed in his sketches are things he feels passionate about. And, well, not all of those things are exactly meant for the public eye and that’s beside the point anyway.

He flips to the front of the notebook to a beautiful sketch of Aragorn from _Lord of the Rings_ howling with a wolf. The ‘o’ of the howl is in nearly perfect symmetry, and _that_ piece is fluid in motion.

So why did Mrs. Edwards have them draw their themes from the hat of doom? And why was he the unlucky bastard who got stuck with ‘athlete’?

He stares across the cafeteria, eyes landing on the jock table. More specifically, Dean Winchester’s table.

Dean Winchester would know what it meant to be an athlete. To have his knees kicking high as he ran in full fluid, beautiful blurred motion. He’d know how to close his eyes and breathe in the cool air as it swept his perfect chestnut-coloured hair into a windblown mess.

Great. Now he’s thinking about Dean Winchester’s messy hair. He feels the rubbery, chalky taste of his eraser as it snaps in his mouth. He grimaces and spits it out, noting all of the teeth marks in it. Ugh.

He dares look back at the table only to suck a breath in and immediately turns around. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, and really, he’s lucky he spit the eraser out and eliminated any possible choking hazard.

He could spot the summer grass in Dean’s eyes a mile away. It’s the kind of colour that if the art companies could bottle as paint or marker, they’d be rich. No two existing colour combined does them justice. He knows, because he’s tried.

 _Why?_ Why would Dean Winchester be looking at him?

True, they’d been neighbors once. Friends. No...best friends. They’d been best friends. He’ll call it what it was. What it could have been if maybe Dean’s dad hadn’t lost his job, and moved them to the other side of town. No more window sneaking at night, no more video games or shared secrets.

That was years ago anyway. Neither of them had known then what it meant to have the tiniest hint of a crush, so, there’s no way that Dean knows that Cas is harboring the teensiest, tiniest little flame for his former friend and has been for years.

Tiny as in the fact that there are easily more drawings of Dean sketched in the book than any other of his muses. In his defense, Cas has to stare at the back of Dean’s head for three classes, and he’s...he’s _pretty_ , okay?

Especially when he laughs.

Doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s kind of an ass.

A snarky, infuriating, beautiful, perfect and kind asshole.

Thing is, Castiel doesn’t know if Dean’s really an asshole. He left just before summer prior to freshman year, and came back different. Quieter, kept to himself all except for his brother, Sam. Spent the whole of that year ignoring everything- extracurriculars, people, schoolwork. And Cas still doesn’t know why. They’re seniors now, both of them- and Cas still has no idea.

And that honestly kind of hurts.

Because he’d thought they’d go on like they had been forever.

More empty promises. More times where he just hasn’t been enough.

But then, there’s the way Dean play-flirts with him. It’s reminiscent of a preteen tugging on pigtails as a means to express affection. It’s like they speak two different languages now. And to Cas, that makes him kind of an asshole. Not just for the snark, and for the jokes that aren’t funny.

Mostly for abandoning him. And then forgetting about him.

And then, because Dean has no idea how much Cas loves him. How much he regrets that they were too young then to understand. It was always love. It’s just grown. At a distance. And, worse, one sided.

Sure, Dean flirts with Cas. But Dean flirts with everyone. And the flirtations are just in passing. Dean’s serial-dated popular kids. But he’s never dated someone like Cas.

There’s just no way that that feeling’s returned. Dean, beautiful, sunshine-and-freckles Dean has no room in his glorious light for Castiel’s softer and more subtle shades of darkness. They meet when one rises and the other sets, glimpsing each other in passing, but never together- not anymore.

He sips at his juice straight from the individual-sized carton, and dares to look back. He bristles once more. Now, it’s not only Dean looking at him, but also his freshman brother, Sam, and a few of the other jocks. And they’re...smiling?

He’s stiff as a board as he slowly rotates his entire body back to sitting straight at the table, picking up a pencil and making a bold sketch of his runner’s calf.

He can see the track field from the art class window. Sometimes, he gets to watch Dean running. He pulls at the memory, and swirls it around in his brain until it’s immersed- and Dean Winchester isn’t sitting half a room away, looking at him; but, instead, on the track field, kicking up dirt as he runs for gym.

He refocuses a moment later on the drawing. It’s a good line. It moves. It feels. It breathes, like he’s bringing Dean’s body to life. Of course, no one will ever, ever know that these legs are Dean’s. He’s made adjustments, they’re not slightly-and-ever-so-adorably bowed, like Dean’s are...

“What are you drawing, Casssstiel?”

The graphite slides into the white space of his pages, scarring his work, which doesn’t seem to entirely matter, because seconds later, there’s _ink_ where his runner used to be, blemishes on perfection spreading and staining like wine.

He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t process it. Just stares blankly at it.

Processing.

_Dean Winchester...just…_

The calm in his eyes becomes a storm, and he’s up out of his chair, angry before worried, “What the fuck, Dean?”

The panic sets in. This drawing is due tomorrow. And sure, there are people that don’t have the ability to make things move and who just take the class for fun. That’s not Cas. He’s serious about this. He’s not his older brothers or sister, already trying to make the Forbes list.

He’s pretty sure that his CEO-dad and psychiatrist mom aren’t going to support his decision to go to art school, judging based, of course, upon the fact that he’s had to fill out applications for only Ivy League schools. Those are the only ones coming to the house. The others...those are his and his grandma’s little secret. He’s gotta get a scholarship. Which means showcase at the end of the year here, for his portfolio.

And if there’s no hope for him doing it on his own and setting an example, he’s not sure what’s gonna become of his younger brother, Gabe- sophomore and snark- whose biggest idols are the Weasley twins from _Harry Potter_.

So, all of these things considered, when Castiel makes his presence bigger, and darker, and louder to Dean Winchester, he’s got his reasons.

One failed project...just one…it could really end it all.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

His precious, intricate sketches. The ink is seeping through. He’s trying to wipe at it with his sleeve, but to no avail.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, and boys will be boys,” Dean grins nonchalantly with a shrug.

And _fuck_ , Cas hates that saying. It completely overrules the fact that Dean just called him ‘cute’. That line is something he’d hear from his dad, or Michael or Luke- not from the same boy who used to let him win _Mario Kart_ , even knowing he’s a bad driver. It’s toxic as hell. The notion is entirely wrong, and he’s back to feeling like a preteen getting his hair pulled. He’s not going to be made to feel helpless. He might be alone, but he’s capable- and old friend or not, he’s not gonna let Dean get away with this. It’s too far this time.

“Boys will be boys my ass, Winchester!” he explodes, and now the entire lunchroom is staring. Because Castiel Novak is quiet and usually buried in his sketchbooks or otherwise preoccupied with pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. “You’re just an asshole!” _Tell him how you really feel, why don’t you?_

Dean’s smile dies, if only a little. But, Cas’ sketchbook is still dripping with ink, and even he’s not sure if he wants to punch Dean, or cry. Yelling seems to be the fairer alternative for now, “Seriously, how much of a dick can you be? Just admit that you like me. I’ll tell you no, and we can be done with it!”

“Oooooh,” sighs the cafeteria, in a collective burn.

Dean visibly shrinks down as though the rejection is _actually_ hurting him. Dean knows nothing of rejection, from what Cas can see.  Castiel takes the few seconds of reprieve to try and shake more of the ink from his precious sketchbook, pages splaying in his efforts. He doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed for calling Dean Winchester out on what are quite possibly the worst flirtations he’s ever witnessed.

But then, Dean’s crimson face contorts, changes and melts into something new. And, Cas, for the life of him, can’t help himself from thinking of the beautiful fluidity of the movement, even as Dean Winchester smirks at him.

He fucking _smirks_ at him.

Dean takes the sketchbook in his hands before Cas can stop him, looking at the ink-dampened pages. It’s then that Cas realizes that he’s got a touch of a height disadvantage. He’d never realized Dean was that much taller.

And instantly he knows what Dean’s going to see. Months of subtle sketches. And horror sets in at the thought, and Dean’s still grinning.

“For what it’s worth, Cas, it’s invisible ink.”

Surely enough, the ink is starting to disappear as though there’s a drain in the paper, almost like magic.

Dean tilts his head, examining one of the pages of Castiel’s work, “But, I’m glad to see that my ass is a good muse for your...creative talents.”

Castiel feels fire- both anger and embarrassment- flooding his face to the point where logic is gone and replaced with fuzzy thoughts. He’s about to make a jump for the sketchbook, but Dean hands it back- good as new, save for the one graphite line Cas had drawn, startled only moments earlier. He slams the book shut.

He’s about to give Dean Winchester a piece of his mind, but Dean’s already walking away, strutting that very same ass toward the exit.

“By the way,” he calls back, turning his head and winking, “You’re right. I do like you. Always have.”

“Listen, you,” _gorgeous, maddening-_ Cas is half chasing after Dean, bookbag and sketchbook all but forgotten at his table “-aesthetic _ass_!” he grabs onto Dean’s arm, and startles when his hand actually latches onto flesh, almost like he hadn’t expected to catch him. And then he realizes what he said, and he’s fumbling hard, drawing away from Dean.

But Dean turns around, and then it’s just them. The roar ebbs like it were the sea, the sound of crashing waves and conversation dulled, pulled so far out of his mind he couldn’t reach it if he wants to.

And he doesn’t want to.

Dean’s grinning. It’s not a smirk anymore, it’s this dumb little half-grin that makes his eyes light up like the sun’s coming out- but it leaves space for the constellation of freckles spattering his nose and cheeks. Thank god for twilight colours. They look beautiful on him.

Castiel recognizes that grin. It’s the one he always used to get when he was letting his guard down and being nice to someone. Opening a door, or helping an old lady with a cart of groceries. It’s the grin that sneaks up on him when the colour of his cheeks turn to that of a bright crimson sunrise. Things that other people don’t see in him while he’s goofing around with sports, or flirting with the entire school. Things that define him just as much, if not more than what other people see.

_There you are._

Cas can’t breathe because of the way they’re looking at each other. He’s looked at Dean a million times- enough to have drawings of not only his ass (thank you very much) but also know the formation of his cheekbones, those bowed legs, the slant from his broad shoulders to his toned abdomen. But it’s never been this intimate. His heart stops like a clock that’s realized that it’s a couple of seconds out of sync. And then it starts up again, revitalized with something he hadn’t known was missing.

It’s poetic in the best ways, which are also the worst, because he still can’t believe what he heard. It’s a cruel joke. Dean flirts with everybody- guy, girl, the non-binary kids- it doesn’t matter to him. It’s just who he is. He’s the type of guy who gets really into kissing in games like spin-the-bottle, or who cuddles with his friends during the movies and then says it’s platonic.

Nothing about what Castiel wants from Dean is platonic, not anymore. Sure, he wants his best friend back. He’s wanted that since Dean vanished that summer and came back to school completely different. But he wants new things, too. Doesn’t think he can have one without the other and not be somewhat broken-hearted about it.

He wants to learn how his fingers fit into the space between Dean’s. He wants to pay more attention to those old rock ‘n roll songs that he loves so much. He wants to learn what makes Dean’s heart start and stop again like a clock. He wants to brush those stray hairs away from his eyes so that he can memorize that shade of green and maybe someday perfect it himself into art. He wants to know what it would be like to be held in those strong arms, Dean’s hand on his back pulling him closer, closer.

Frozen. The world is frozen in the moment, and it’s every romantic cliche of every sappy, unrealistic chick flick Dean claims not to love. Cas is okay being a romantic cliche. It’s beautiful, really. Nothing else matters, or exists. Nothing’s fluid, and there’s no need for motion. There’s just the gentle chemistry when their eyes meet, ocean colours colliding and finding that they’re at home within one another.

He forgets that he’s angry.

And he forgets that he doesn’t believe that Dean Winchester likes him.

“Aesthetic ass?” Dean asks, raising a brow. But, for once there’s no bite to his words, only a gentle amusement and a beautiful smile to match it.

“I…” Cas stumbles, before thinking ‘ _fuck it_ ’, “And the rest of you, too.”

And...that’s... _forward_.

But the blush is brilliant, and it makes Cas smile, if cautiously. He’s aware that they’re looking at each other like two idiots in love, and he can’t bring himself to care.

Instead, he’s full-on grinning now. He takes two small steps forward until he’s closed in on Dean’s space entirely, “Hello, Dean,” he says softly.

And every ‘hello, Dean’ from the times that they were so young comes back to him, and every ‘hello, Dean’ he wishes he would’ve said when Dean walked past him in the hall for the past few years. The number of times he wishes he’d asked ‘why?’ Because now, it feels like such a waste of time.

Cas’ hands reach up, brushing his thumbs over Dean’s cheeks with such light touches that Dean could almost be mistaken for a canvas, and Cas’ thumbs the paintbrush. Gentle, precise movements that make Dean suck in a breath.

And then comes Cas’ doubt again. That pressing, constricting fear that Dean’s gonna turn and run. It’d be simpler that way. Dean’s dad isn’t exactly the type of guy you bring a boyfriend home to.

Before the thoughts can even worry him too much, Dean’s little brother is yelling from across the room, “For fuck’s sake, just kiss him already, Dean!” It’s the first sound that breaks through the comfort and safety of their own world around them.

The roar that follows is a storm blowing rain and snow and ice- there’s laughter and gasps and a bit more silence than could be expected for a moment while the kids process the new information set before them.

Then: breakthrough cheering, almost like they’re the football team about to score a winning touchdown.

It’s Cas’ turn to blush. He’s staring at _Dean’s_ _lips_ wondering what it might be like to kiss him. And he finds that he really doesn’t entirely care what the rest of the school thinks about it.

Dean notices, and he smiles. It’s almost a smirk, actually, but it’s softer. Dean’s arm slips around Castiel’s waist, pulling him in tight. And-

_Oh my god. What is he doing? What is he-_

Castiel’s heart is erratic against his chest, and the butterflies of anticipation in his stomach are so out of control, he almost can’t help but to squirm a little.

Dean bends his head, and Cas is leaning up to meet him without having to think about it twice. There’s that subtle height difference again. He likes it. Dean pauses just before, and Castiel recognizes the question in his eyes ‘is this okay?’

It takes less than half a nod before Cas’ world explodes with colour.

Well, almost.

Dean misses the first time. But he has to give him credit for his persistence. The move from the space between Cas’ nose and lips to capturing his lips in his own is damn near breathtakingly flawless. Cas’ hands search for something to hold onto, and he’s more than pleased to find Dean’s shirt in his grasp, grounding him.

There’s warmth, and beauty, and Cas feels like he’s floating. When Dean pulls away, he’s absolutely breathless, and still clinging.

“Wow,” Dean breathes, his arm still snug at Castiel’s back.

“Wow,” Cas agrees, finishing the nodding motion from earlier.

“Hate to ruin the moment, Cas, but…” Dean side-eyes one of the teachers, coming toward them with a gleeful look that likely means suspension, or at the very least a stern talking to. “Grab your bag, and let’s go?”

Cas starts to open his mouth to protest, but thinks better of asking. When they were little, Dean would always come up with the adventures, and Cas would play along, and almost always, he’d enjoy the destination.

He runs back to his table, grabbing his messenger bag and sketchbook, forsaking the tray of food.

Dean’s waiting for him, hand outstretched, and Cas blindly trusts him enough to take it.

“Novak! Winchester!” the teacher calls, barrelling toward them.

And then they’re running, hand-in-hand.

“Where are we going?”

“On an adventure,” Dean grins, turning his head to look at Cas.

Dean’s a natural leader. Always has been. But he’s always had this almost innate ability to make sure that Cas is never trailing behind him, but always beside him. God, he’s missed being beside him.

“Oh, no,” Cas teases, a little winded by now, “Adventures with you are dangerous, Dean Winchester.”

“I’ve always kept you safe, haven’t I?”

And Cas can’t help but wonder if that’s what Dean’s been doing all of these years. Protecting him from some invisible foe that he never noticed. Just like he always had in their games. His chest tightens and constricts. Idiot. _Protective, beautiful, brave, stupid idiot._

They sprint past the cheers and good-humored laughter of their classmates, they dart through the lunchroom doors toward their freedom- the main door at the end of the hall.

“I don’t always need saving, though,” he offers. He can be strong. He _is_ strong. And he promises to himself in this moment that he’s never going to make assumptions again. If Dean allows him to stick around- Cas will ask questions, he’ll try to understand. “I’m pretty badass, if I do say so myself.”

Dean guffaws, “‘S that so?”

Cas grins. It’s so good to see Dean smiling. “Yeah. By the way, does this make you my boyfriend? Because I don’t just go on random adventures with rand-”

“Yeah,” Dean answers immediately, too quickly, and Cas can’t help but notice that Dean’s face is creeping crimson at a rate that implies it has nothing to do with the running, “-I mean…”

Cas chuckles. He’s proud of himself. He’s got Dean Winchester flustered, and isn’t it the most beautiful thing?

“-Wait,” Dean’s still stammering as they run, “Wait, are you joking, or are you actually serious?” He turns to face Cas for just a moment, and his eyes are full of the hopeful blooming greenery of first spring- a break in winter hibernation, a rejuvenation of life, and it makes Cas suck in a breath again. For a moment, he doesn’t remember what they’re talking about.

They slow to a halt that nearly has Cas crashing into Dean, who says with more seriousness than Cas can recently remember hearing out of his maybe-boyfriend, “Please be serious.”

And, it’s funny, Cas thinks, that an hour ago, Dean, the person he used to be closest to in this god-forsaken universe, had been reduced to pencil shavings and lines sketched on empty pages…

...That they always seemed to miss each other: two binary stars, just out of the other’s orbit.

“Yeah,” Cas says, gravitating towards Dean again. _Damn it, this isn’t the time to steal kisses from your definite-boyfriend because you’re infinitely happier than you can remember being in...in such a long time_ , “Yeah, I’d...I’d really like that, Dean.”

Dean’s entire face lights up with the next smile, convincing Cas fully that he’s no simple star, but rather, the sun.

“I’m gonna kiss you again,” Dean says, half-playfully, half-seriously. Whatever his intent, Cas goes weak in the knees thinking about escaping somewhere that he can kiss Dean as much as he wants.

“But for now,” Dean shoots a roguish smile back in the direction of their pursuit, “Basically, run.”

It isn’t long before they escape out of the doors and into the parking lot.

Cas’ heart is beginning to pound from the exertion, lungs starting to fill with cool air and burn.

Straggling students push past them in a last desperate attempt to make it back from lunch before the bell, staring at them in confusion.

The wind picks up through his hair, he can hear it whirring past his ears, feel the cold stinging his cheeks. He imagines his cheeks are pink now. Pink like cherry blossoms blooming in Dean’s spring thaw.

“Sorry!” Castiel clumsily offers to one of the guys that he bumps into. It’s short lived, because then he’s laughing again. And he finds that no matter how much his lungs burn, it’s hard to stop.

His legs work hard to keep up with Dean’s, the stray asphalt pebbles beneath his shoes grinding into the blacktop and crunching and popping. He feels his muscles strain against his skin, and the first signs of sweat tickling his brow.

His art project is finally coming together in his head. There are two runners now, bounding and bumbling toward simple freedoms, hand in hand and smiling. And it’s breathless, and spring is blooming all around them as their surroundings pass them by in a blur. Flowers sprout at their feet, the world forming around them, but they only see each other. Their new beginnings are not in the flowering blooms and stretching vines, but within each other. It’s beautiful. It’s liberating.

He’s free and falling in love with Dean Winchester at winter’s end.

It’s art. Life in its entirety, fluid and always in motion with no set destination, painting and repainting a canvas to turn it into a beautiful masterpiece. It’s never the same twice, and it’s never exactly what the artist envisioned. But somehow, and sometimes, it’s even better than imagined.

And running. Like this. He could learn to like it...and maybe, just maybe even love it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked my work, please feel free to hit the heart button, or subscribe to my future work. It's my endeavor to write (mostly) healthy things for Destiel.  
> Comments are loved more than you know.  
> And if you really loved my work, there is always the option of taking me out for a Ko-Fi (see what I did there with the dad jokes?) by clicking [ here.](https://ko-fi.com/A78534DM#)  
> All my love.  
> -Dean


End file.
